A Dash of Hair Gel, A Smidgen of Revenge
by GoldenSilence
Summary: All the enchanted objects of Malfoy Manner wanted was a little respect. Hurt, they lay a magic smackdown on Draco. The results? A most interesting confusion in the weeks to follow. DracoHarry.


A Dash of Hair Gel, a Smidgen of Revenge, and a Heavy Dose of Teenage Overreacting  
  
By:GoldenSilence  
  
A/N=This story should be all in all, about three or so chapters long, perhaps shorter, perhaps more. Anyway, I just wanted to dedicate this to my brother, since he went to his first hockey practice and broke his arm. Much Snuggles. -  
  
From the deepest depths of the manor, something stirred, something inhuman, something dangerous, and most definitely something unfamiliar with appendages.  
  
Now, most of the time, this object of impending doom and certain dark enchantment looked positively inconspicuous. It fit right in with the nail scissors that kept self-sharpening themselves against anything they could find, and the sinister looking scrub brush (guaranteed to get rid of every impurity!) spouting what on close inspection proved to be mini-knives all over its head.  
  
The object even fit in with the bottle of "Splendidly Brilliant Hair Shine for the Beautiful Blonde in You", which was saying something. However, at this moment, the bottle of hair gel (with the deliberately misleading words "Possibly Fatal Potion" inscribed as large as possible on it, and underneath, in much smaller letters, "property of Draco Malfoy" ) was blending in remarkably badly.  
  
This was probably due to the fact that the hair gel, without any legs or hands that were recognizable, (and this was odd in a house where every knickknack had at least one set of arms and legs, if not more, in order to appear as menacing as possible) had somehow managed to knock itself off the shelf.  
  
The bathroom floor uttered something nasty and dire at the hair gel as it, with the considerable effort of something that is a bit rusty at doing anything other than being goopy, proceeded to roll itself down the hall.  
  
Right, left, second secret passage behind yet another dodgy looking portrait, and...It was almost there!  
  
The hair gel smiled, the type of smile that a toddler wore after figuring out how to reach the top shelf and reach the cookies, and it must be said that it was not a pretty site.  
  
The statue of a once great lady (or 'great' in terms of her impeccable taste in clothes, anyway) stared in disbelief at the runaway bottle of hair gel as the hair gel attempted to roll past. The statue was having none of that. She had her orders concerning the Young Mister Malfoy's room. They'd had enough trouble, what with the inordinate number of girls in bumblebee colors that had been trying to get through to Malfoy's room lately. The girls kept talking in code about something called "The Plan", and the words "leather pants" came up with alarming frequency.  
  
No, Lady Nora certainly hadn't let those silly girls (and one rather odd boy, who seemed to be the ringleader of the whole "Plan" and kept muttering something else about "silk boxers") past, and she wasn't about to let this hair gel get away with anything.  
  
The statue froze the hair gel with a spell, though "spell" was an understatement. The statue didn't have many spells that the Malfoys allowed her to keep at her disposal to use on intruders, but the few she had were plenty. The engorged house-elf head that consequently sprouted out of the bottle of gel was just an inconsequential side effect.  
  
The hair gel tried to act nonchalant, but the statue wasn't buying it. The hair gel and house-elf head attached to it were both bright pink. In a nutshell, the hair gel/house/elf was up to something.  
  
"Well, hey Nora. So how's it going in the Left Wing of the Right Wing of the house?" questioned the hair gel/jar, nervously.  
  
"It's the Right Wing of the Left Wing," Nora muttered. "And just where do you think you are going, anyway?" she demanded of the hair gel/house–elf head with a raise of her eyebrows.  
  
"Nowhere."  
  
"And doing what, exactly?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Mmhm. This nothing wouldn't have anything at all to do with a certain Draco Malfoy's room, now would it?"  
  
The house-elf/hair gel's reply was to turn an even deeper shade of pink. Now sporting a house-elf head and a fluorescent pink coloring that would have shown during the dark apocalypse itself, the pathetic creature might as well have had several lit up arrows spelling out "Up to No Good" right above it.  
  
The statue rolled her eyes. "I thought so. Look, I know what you're thinking, and I wouldn't bother. It's not going to work."  
  
The hair gel/jar just continued to smile in a vacant manner. The statue might as well have been talking to a wall (with the exception of the wall on the first floor, which could grunt a little when it wanted to).  
  
The statue wearily raised one of her stone arms and gestured down the hall. "Oh, fine. Go ahead. You'll have to wait your turn, though, Laurie's in there right now."  
  
"Wait," the hair gel said, "before I go, are you really going out with Lucius' cane? I heard so from the painting down the hall."  
  
Nora made an indignant noise. "Of course not!"  
  
"Eh, just had to ask to see if it was true."  
  
"Lucius' hair ribbons are much better for getting in all the cracks, anyway," muttered Nora under her breath as the house elf/jar rolled away again.  
  
One of the candelabras gave the house-elf/jar a distinct thumbs-up sign as the house-elf/jar passed by. The statue put her fingers to her temple and sighed. When would they ever learn?  
  
Little did Draco Malfoy know that the only thing standing between him and his rude awakening was one door, unlocked thanks to the courtesy of one intrepid toothbrush.  
  
From beneath four feather comforters, two pillows, and what appeared to be a rather large fur, Draco smirked serenely in his sleep and clutched at his stuffed rabid teddy bear (complete with fangs and a small constant amount of drool.)  
  
Halfway up the side of his bed, a porcelain toothbrush fell off again. The toothbrush lay there for awhile before spotting something out of the corner of its eye. Painfully and slowly hopping its way to Draco's dresser, it grabbed the discarded hair ribbon lying beneath it. The hair ribbon was obviously one of Lucius', and the porcelain toothbrush really didn't care how it had gotten here.  
  
The heart of the story behind the neglected hair ribbon, though, was Draco's conversation earlier that night with his father.  
  
"You can look like me, Draco!"  
  
"But I already look like you, father."  
  
"Draco, nothing says evilness like a hair ribbon. Trust me. It's essential."  
  
"But it's not very useful." Draco considered. "Wait, does this mean I get a cane like you, too?"  
  
Lucius' hands automatically clasped his cane a little tighter. "No! No cane! The cane is not part of the deal!"  
  
"But I want to smack people."  
  
"I am disappointed in you." Draco didn't bother to ask why. His father told him he was disappointed in him quite often. In fact, the last time it had been because Draco had been wearing the wrong color socks.  
  
Lucius slammed out of the room, but not before throwing a hair ribbon at Draco.  
  
Draco shrugged.  
  
As it was dragged across the floor, the hair ribbon tried it's hardest to bite the porcelain toothbrush before realizing that it, sadly, had no teeth. With a good deal of struggle, the porcelain toothbrush threw the hair ribbon into the air like a lasso, and aimed for Draco's bedpost.  
  
Draco slept on while the porcelain toothbrush climbed. Even when the toothbrush reached the top of his bed, and began doing a weird sort of victory dance, Draco still remained oblivious.  
  
On the other side of Draco's door, the hair gel was busy trying to formulate a plan for getting through. Apparently, hitting the door with the house-elf head that was now attached to the hair gel's lid helped the hair gel in its thinking.  
  
Unable to come up with any better idea than that which it already had, the bottle /house-elf rolled backwards until it hit the opposite wall. It stayed there for awhile as if hoping to move the door by the sheer force of its' grotesque ridiculousness. Then, like a car revving its engine, the bottle of hair gel rolled back and forth, gathering up speed until it went zooming towards the door.  
  
With a pitiful creak, the door gave way and the hair gel zoomed on through. It stopped, gave one look to the porcelain toothbrush doing the victory dance, connected two and two and figured that the toothbrush was the "Laurie" that the statue had spoken of.  
  
The hair gel promptly and swiftly rammed into the bedpost with full force and sent Laurie toppling to the floor, where Laurie the toothbrush instantly became Laurie of many, many shards.  
  
It was this that at last woke Draco. His smirk turning into a frown, Draco sleepily punched at the air to make sure anything in the immediate area of his person would pay, and then bothered to open his eyes. Frowning into the darkness, Draco grabbed his wand from his bed stand and groggily muttered "Lumos."  
  
What met his eyes a few seconds later was a sight of horrific proportions. What appeared to be a disembodied house elf head was trying to suck on his toes.  
  
Draco's wand dropped to his bed, and he started to give a squeal, then thought better of the affect upon his dignity, and gave a shriek instead.  
  
The house elf head quickly found Draco's wand and sat on it. "At last, I have finally found you, Mr. Malfoy Sir!" it chirped, all the while smiling the most disturbing smile Draco had ever seen.  
  
Draco mumbled indistinguishably and scuttled back against his headboard. This was his worst nightmare. Not only was there a house-elf head here, in his room, but it was apparently alive, attached to some sort of bottle, and pink. Draco tried his hardest to remember if there had been any house-elves cut up and pickled recently.  
  
The apparition attempted to pat at Draco reassuringly with its nose. Draco stared at the creature in utter horror. If he lived, Draco intended to remind himself to wash the spot of contact with hot water until it scalded.  
  
"There, there. I know how full of emotion you must be to see me here. I, too, am brimming over with these feelings!"  
  
Draco stared. Feelings? A house-elf/ jar hybrid had feelings?  
  
"Though," continued the house-elf head/jar thingy, brightly unaware of the nuance of expression between disgust and love, "it is actually a bit of a pleasant surprise that you aren't talking, for once. You're so nice when you're quiet."  
  
Draco's sense of pride got the better of his fear. "Excuse me? I am never n- "  
  
The house-elf head/jar continued on, ignoring him. "Now, I know this is a bit strange-"  
  
"Oh yeah, sure. House-elf parts are always floating around my room with a bottle stuck to them. Practically commonplace," Draco grumbled under his breath.  
  
The house-elf/jar rambled right on past Draco's interruption. "Ahem. As I was saying, I know that it's a bit strange, considering we've known each other for so long, but being constantly in your presence has only led me to- "  
  
"Whoa, hold on a second. What do you mean, constantly in my presence?" Draco glanced at the house-elf head/jar suspiciously and then noticed what was on the jar. "Wait, is that my hair gel?"  
  
The color of the hair gel/house-elf was now rapidly leaving magenta and approaching a shade best linked to cough syrup. It was also becoming hysterical. Sick and tired of being interrupted, it let the whole point of its journey from the faraway bathroom to Draco's room, the fated phrase, loose.  
  
"I love you!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, everyone that matters does," Draco said with a wave of his hand, before full realization dawned on him.  
  
He didn't know where the house-elf head had come from, but the hair gel was a given. A few days ago, his parents being out, Draco had drunk what the Head cooking house-elf had called "vintage butterbeer, with a dash of something or other to spice it up." Draco couldn't quite remember what the house-elf had told him the something or other was, but he remembered both that he had never heard of it before and that he kicked her too fast to find out anything more.  
  
It was because of that stupid drink that he had cast the spell on his hair gel.  
  
There were several reasons for the spell, all that had seemed revelations of genius at the time, though ideas usually did when one was pissed. Number one, it was nice to get his way from people that mattered, but something struck Draco as hilarious about getting his way from people that under normal circumstances would have sooner cut off their own leg. There was, in addition to this, a motive number two, though one hidden well enough that even Draco didn't recognize it.  
  
"Oh, shit," Draco said to the house-elf/jar. "It's from the spell, isn't it?"  
  
"Oh, no, no! I've loved you fore-"  
  
"Yeah, I thought so."  
  
Draco blinked at the house-elf/jar; it blinked back in what no doubt was supposed to be a dreamy fashion. Draco continued to stare at the house- elf/jar, and it stared back at him, memorized.  
  
Draco moved closer. The house-elf/jar started fluttering its eyelashes harder, to the point that they were mini turbo fans. Draco moved still closer. It was at this point that the house-elf began laughing uproariously. If Draco hated anything, it was people and creatures that laughed uproariously.  
  
In one swift move, Draco knocked over the house-elf/jar, and grabbed his wand. Mid-chuckle, the house-elf/jar became, once again, just a jar of hair gel.  
  
Draco reached over to cautiously pick the hair gel, which was still had faint pink glow to it, up. The minute his hands touched it, though, the jar spontaneously combusted, all over Draco, the walls, and the carpet.  
  
Draco uttered a hasty cleaning spell, looked back at the damage, and sighed.  
  
"I lose more hair products that way."  
  
A day later, inside the house-elves very own dungeon, complete with various instruments of torture (which Senior Malfoy had graciously allowed them to have for their own perusal), a meeting was taking place. The meeting was led by none other than Nora the Statue, who several of the various participants had helped to move down the stairs.  
  
Whatever the cause for the meeting was, it was evidently something of great importance, as all those gathered were making quite a commotion.  
  
Nora cleared her throat.  
  
"Silence. Silence please! I hereby call this, the twenty- eighth meeting of Enchanted Objects Have Feelings, Too! to order, on account of unusual cruelty, and recent death. Who would like to speak first?"  
  
"The madness has to stop!" yelled the rusty voice of a set of armor from somewhere amid the throng.  
  
"That's very...helpful...of you," said Nora, and then added rather quickly. "Anyone else?"  
  
A bottle of shampoo danced around excitedly. "Ooh, oooh!!!"  
  
Nora nodded at it. "Alright, what have you got to say?"  
  
"Well, as everyone knows, the hair-gel and I are best friends."  
  
"You mean 'were'!" hollered another voice, with a nasty chuckle.  
  
At this, the shampoo promptly burst into tears full of bubbles.  
  
"Yes, we all miss her terribly," Nora said. "Next!"  
  
The shampoo sniffled slightly. "I'm not finished yet! What I have to say is important!"  
  
"Then say it, Dolores!" snapped Nora, already out of sorts not halfway into the meeting.  
  
"I have reason to suspect that my friend (the hair gel, as you all know) was cursed by none other than Draco Malfoy himself! She never would have liked him on her own, she hated him! Draco Malfoy did it on purpose, no longer is he content to dole out punishment on those who can't help their feelings, he is now killing the innocent!"  
  
"Are you saying," began a wooden toothbrush in a dangerously increasing tone, "that those of us objects who like Draco Malfoy deserve his wrath? ARE YOU SAYING THAT MY AUNT LAURIE DESERVED TO BE SHATTERED TO PIECES IN A MOST CRUEL AND BRUTAL MANNER??"  
  
"Yes. Honestly, he's human, HUMAN! What can you do with him besides stare at him until you go blind? Not to mention, he's not even a decent-" started the shampoo, but a lamp spoke up before she could finish.  
  
"-He is too decent! Very decent! I've watched him!" protested the lamp. The pair of silk boxer shorts beside the lamp gave it a questioning glance, and the lamp promptly became embarrassed. "Umm, ignore that. Hehe, never mind."  
  
"He's also smart!" commented a book.  
  
"And he has good taste in clothing!" added a silk shirt.  
  
"I bet he would make a lovely couch," muttered a couch dreamily.  
  
"I never got to finish," said Dolores the shampoo sulkily, before being cut off by Nora.  
  
"Alright, shut up! All of you, shut up!" Nora gave a long-suffering groan. "From this point onward, only speak if you actually have a solution to the problem."  
  
"You know," began a monogrammed towel, "When Dolores was speaking about her unfortunate friend and the whole spell thing, it made me remember Alfie the extra smooth hand cream. Does anyone else remember what happened to him?"  
  
"Yeah, he got," began the bathroom stool, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, "flushed down the drain, didn't he?"  
  
"Exactly!" the monogrammed towel said to the stool, "and by whom?"  
  
"Draco Malfoy, naturally," said the stool.  
  
"Now, as some of you may recall, Alfie hated Draco Malfoy. Loathed him, just as much as Dolore's friend did. However, the day before the tragic incident, Alfie experienced a strange change of heart. This gives me reason to think that the spell performed on the hair gel was no different than the spell performed on Alfie."  
  
The monogrammed towel stopped here for several obligatory cries of horror. When he was satisfied, he continued. "However, these are not the only two cases, oh no! I have record of at least five separate incidences were the very same thing has occurred, ultimately resulting in the poor object's destruction. Abel the Conditioner, Maureen the Hair Follicle Strengthener, I could go on and on. I have witnessed the spell being performed and can say with assurance that it is none other than..Draco Malfoy!"  
  
The objects began to all talk again, very loudly.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," said a container of toothpaste "is a bloodthirsty tyrant! No longer does he limit his anger to those of us objects who are infatuated with him,"-there were several utterances of protest here-"but strikes out indiscriminately! Who's to say who the next victim will be?"  
  
"Perhaps," added a fountain pen in a terrified voice, "his goal is nothing less than an annihilation of all of us!"  
  
"How many of us," added a quill, "have experienced abuse at the hands of Draco Malfoy, already?"  
  
"Me!"  
  
"Me!"  
  
"Oh, most definitely me!" said a house-elf. Then, before anyone could add on, "sometimes Young Malfoy curses me so I feel unimaginable pain through my whole body, and other times, he kicks me, really, really hard, and once, he threw a poker at me, and it went through my ear and came out my..."  
  
"Control yourself, Marvin!" said the quill. Marvin the house-elf shivered pleasurably and quieted.  
  
"Oh, for goodness sakes will everyone just calm down!" Nora said. "I'm serious here, the next thing that speaks better have a solution or I'm calling this meeting off."  
  
A rabid teddy bear tentatively raised a hand. Nora nodded at him. "Yes, go ahead. What do you suggest?"  
  
"Well, I think I have an idea that just might work. See, lately, I've heard Draco muttering something about Harry. Just the other night, actually, he said...."  
  
"Why, of course he hates Harry so much he talks about him in his sleep. Great, absolutely perfect! Wonderful idea! I couldn't have thought up anything better myself!" Nora interrupted excitedly. "We can cast a spell on Harry to make Draco like him! It would be the ultimate lesson!"  
  
"Umm, I don't think you have it quite right," began the rabid teddy bear cautiously. "That's not exactly what I was going to point out. If you would just allow me to fi-"  
  
"-Sure, sure," Nora gestured dismissively, and continued, "I love this idea! Not only does Draco fall for his enemy, but for a boy, to boot!"  
  
This statement did not have the intended effect upon its listeners. Only the few objects with noticeable gender, such as paintings and statues, caught on, the rest just looked confused.  
  
A long bout of silence followed Nora's words. Nora glanced around triumphantly and was faced with several bewildered expressions.  
  
"You know, as opposed to a girl," Nora clarified.  
  
Yet more silence.  
  
"So? There's a difference?" questioned an object.  
  
"Yes," explained Nora patiently. "For example, Mr. Malfoy is a boy and Mrs. Malfoy is a girl."  
  
"But," protested a carpet thoughtfully," they both wear hair ribbons."  
  
"And dresses," added another source.  
  
"Ugh, no, no, no! Look, it all has to do with the dangly bits. The ones that have them are guys, the ones without are girls," said Nora.  
  
"You mean....I'm a guy?" a toilet cried out in fear. Not waiting for a response, it gave a large wail and began clunking out the dungeon door. "I'm a guy, and all these years I never even knew it."  
  
"Hey, Alice, where are you going?" questioned the carpet.  
  
The toilet sniffed. "To have a crisis."  
  
The next words Nora said were spoken loudly to cover up the sound of muffled sobs coming from the staircase. "Everyone understand now?"  
  
Several hands were raised, but Nora ignored them. "Yeah, okay, great. See, it's a human thing. Boys with boys are just generally frowned upon."  
  
"That's stupid," said a cabinet. "I mean, I may be missing a few drawers, but that doesn't mean I'm not still attracted to the armoire."  
  
"Okay, sick, just sick," said Nora.  
  
"Actually," began a rainbow colored toe sock, "it really isn't. After all, love knows no boundaries, no gender, no color, no number of drawers, no specific type of wood, no particular type of cloth, no one kind of stitching.."  
  
Nora gave the sock the once over. "Hold up, are you even from this house?"  
  
"Prejudiced!" screamed the sock, "you are all prejudiced! Just because I am not dreary looking and give warmth to cold toes doesn't mean I don't belong to a Malfoy!"  
  
The sock stomped out in a huff.  
  
"Whatever," said Nora. "Dolores, I put you in charge of finding out where Harry's house is. I'm sure Draco has it written down in case he feels like exploding it, or something. Egbert, you arrange a method of transportation. Since I am sure I am the only one that knows the spell, I nominate myself to perform it. Any complaints?"  
  
Once more, several objects raised their hands, including the rabid teddy bear, which was actually looking very bemused. Yet again, Nora ignored the hands completely.  
  
Nora rubbed her fingers together in anticipation. "Good. Then I call this meeting to a close. Tomorrow night, we seek our revenge."  
  



End file.
